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The river’s edge was slippery and sloped as they took slow, calculated steps down the riverbank and squatted before the rushing rapids to refill their waterskins. The water was freezing, a frigid cold that bit at their fingers before numbing them almost instantly as the rapids lapped at their hands and toes of their boots.
Merlin hisses through his teeth when he sees the tips of his fingers go from a ghostly white to a faint blue. He leans forward just a tad more, hoping to get his hands out of the spunky little rapid that splashes against a cluster of rocks and feels a strong grasp at his shoulder before he even realizes he may have tipped just a bit too far.
He looks up to see Elyan behind him, peering down at him with a furrowed brow and giving him a subtle head shake.
“We just got you back,” he tells Merlin gently, “we don’t need the river taking you from us too.”
Merlin nods quickly. He can agree to that.
He sits back, if only to pacify Elyan and the watchful eyes he feels on him as he screws his waterskin closed. The knights and Arthur are lined up beside him, perhaps a little too close for what’s considered normal, filling up their waterskins in a terse silence. Merlin studies them quietly from his spot by the riverbed, taking notice of their taut lips and hardened gazes. Not much has been said since he was rescued from the slave traders and Merlin, while having been quite dismayed at his predicament among his captors, though be it his time with them was rather brief, had been renewed in his relief once back in the familiar company of Arthur and the knights. The relief was welcoming, warm despite the cold bite of the air around them, and made him almost giddy. He could easily forget the slave traders and their harsh blows and unnerving threats they had promised upon him. He was home, even if he wasn’t yet behind the walls of Camelot, and he was safe. Arthur and his men could be irritating on most occasions and downright relentless in their teasing and roughhousing. But they were family, Merlin could even admit this out loud, and honestly the only family Merlin knew at the moment. Being with them now, after having spent agonizing hours among the harshness of the slave traders, was like falling into the warm bedding of a cozy hut after spending a hard day’s work in the fields. And even that was putting it lightly.
But Merlin seemed to be the only one at ease within the good fortune of his rescue. Arthur and the knights still seemed riddled with something quite prickly, like they were upset and Merlin couldn’t pinpoint if the anger was at him or the slave traders. He stayed quiet in fear it was the first thought. Perhaps they blamed him for being such an easy target though he knows in his gut that simply wasn’t true. But one could never be too sure.
Their bad luck continues, as it would seem, when an old tree from across the river finally gives way to its decaying trunk, having been slanted at an odd angle already before finally creaking and groaning and ultimately toppling over into the river with a large splash.
It startles them all, the knights jumping to their feet and either their hands at their swords or swords drawn in anticipation. Merlin whirls around when he hears the horses stomp and snort from behind him, pulling back on their reins in fear of the ruckus. A few of the horses, perhaps not having been properly tied to begin with, are able to break free from their tie.
It’s three of them, two of the three prancing in frightened circles while the third rears up before hightailing it into the woods.
Merlin jumps to his feet and hurries up the embankment. It just had to be his horse.
He goes to chase her but there’s another grasp at his shoulder, hauling him back and he turns to see Gwaine pinning him with narrowed eyes. “Let her go.”
“But–”
“Let her go, Merlin,” Arthur reiterates, sheathing his sword when he decides the fallen tree from the other side of the river poses no threat. The others follow his lead. “Least we risk another kidnapping.”
Merlin’s cheeks heat at that even if he knows Arthur doesn’t mean it as a jab. It still feels like one.
“Traitor,” he muses under his breath in reference to his horse. “You don’t think–… she’ll be alright, won’t she?”
He’s really not sure who he’s asking but is grateful when Gwaine squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “Horses have a sixth sense for home. She’ll be back at the stables long before we are.”
“And no doubt sounding the alarm,” Leon grouses. Elyan and Percival grab at their freed mounts, loyal and smart enough to stay put regardless of their obvious fear of the fallen tree. The knights pet their horses gratefully. Merlin sighs. He wants to defend his mare, pointing out she’s young and still learning, but he’s a bit miffed she abandoned him so readily and decides she isn’t deserving of his defenses right now.
Maybe later.
That leaves them with another predicament on their hands as everyone but Merlin mounts up almost simultaneously. Merlin’s prepared to walk, he’s still not sure if he’s somehow gotten on everyone’s bad side or not and won't chance it by expecting a ride, when Arthur reins his horse around to stop him in his tracks, his gloved hand sprouting down into Merlin’s face and his foot coming out of his stirrup.
“Climb up.”
Merlin looks up at him, “I can walk.”
Arthur scoffs, “please. It’s a long way. Use my stirrup.”
Merlin opens his mouth to argue but Arthur sends him a pointed glare and he immediately shuts it. Best not to push then.
He shoves his boot into the empty stirrup, grabbing Arthur’s hand and allowing himself to be hauled up onto the back of Arthur’s horse. The steed takes the extra weight with little fuss, waiting for Merlin to situate himself comfortably behind the saddle as he drops the stirrup for Arthur to put his foot back into it.
It’s a little cramped, Merlin will admit, but not entirely uncomfortable. Arthur’s wool blanket is a bit in the way and as they begin their trek back to Camelot he fusses with it to get it out of his space. Finally Arthur reaches behind him and undoes the latch without looking, unraveling the blanket with a fierce shake to the side of them and along the horse’s flank before holding it behind to Merlin wordlessly.
Merlin takes it, “what do I do with this now that you’ve made it worse?”
“Cover yourself,” Arthur says matter-of-factly, “I can hear you shivering.”
“I am not.”
“You can’t even say that without shivering.”
Merlin, once again, tells himself it’s best not to argue. Even if arguing comes to him as naturally as breathing. He swallows his retort bitterly, throwing the blanket over himself and allowing the warmth of the wool to bleed into his bones. It’s heavenly and he’s suddenly glad he shut up and followed Arthur’s order. He hadn’t realized how cold he actually was. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the day’s events that numbed his senses.
They journey on in a heavy silence. The presence of winter lies in a tangible fashion all around them, the gray and dreary atmosphere having circulated among the forest. It was painstakingly quiet, all the woodland critters either having taken to hibernation for the winter or hidden themselves in burrows and nests in search of blessed warmth. It’s the silence only winter can achieve and Merlin would dare say it’s quite tranquil. Peaceful. He loved winter, even if he hated the cold, and he desperately wanted for the mood amongst Arthur and his men to be lifted.
Instead, he hunkers down in its heavy laden embrace, settling into the wool blanket and allowing the movements of the horse to tilt his body forward until he can feel the cool metal of Arthur’s armor at his forehead. He takes refuge behind the wall of Arthur’s body like a fortress, closing his eyes and hearing the winter wind swirl around them, as if it were taunting them. He watches as the warm air from his nostrils creates a cloud of fog upon Arthur’s backplate and he reaches up from under the blanket to run a finger down the condensation. He blows hot air onto the armor from his mouth this time, creating an even larger fog cloud, and attempts to draw a dragon. It ends up looking more like a pig and he snorts a laugh.
Arthur turns his head slightly but doesn’t say anything and Merlin wonders if he’d even bother addressing a crudely drawn dragon-pig upon his back. Merlin huffs more air and draws a flower this time.
He smiles. Arthur would probably have something to say about that.
When Merlin’s fingers become too cold to continue he tucks them back inside the confinements of Arthur’s blanket and closes his eyes. He thinks he could probably sleep like this. Between the blanket’s engulfing warmth, the lulling motion of the horse below him and Arthur blocking the wind in front of him he could definitely drift off, if only for a short time, and maybe when he wakes everyone will have come to and be in better moods.
He only manages to close his eyes for perhaps a minute or two before something in the air changes with a snap. It doesn’t hurt nor is it shockingly alarming but Merlin’s magic jolts under his skin and he lifts his head, glancing around, and that's when he realizes.
“It’s snowing.” He says out loud, looking up at the sky.
Arthur turns a little to glance at him before following his lead to look up at the clouds. The knights do so as well.
“No it’s not,” Arthur says before quirking a brow at him, “are you blind?”
Suddenly gentle flakes of white begin to drift between them, a sway of a slow dance as they create a zig zag pattern all around. Merlin grins, sticking a hand out to catch a few and marvels at the way they land on his palm gently and melt instantly.
Arthur looks perplexed, staring back up at the sky like it offended him as though Mother Nature herself was indebted to obey him.
“It is snowing,” someone says excitedly behind them, Gwaine, Merlin thinks, and he’s happy to note the lightness in his voice. He turns upon the horse’s back, watching as the knights gaze in awe at the flakes that drift around them lazily. Merlin tips his head back and sticks his tongue out.
It’s Percival who raises a brow, riding up alongside him, “what are you doing?”
“Catching snowflakes,” Merlin explains, “haven’t you ever done so before?”
Percival shakes his head and Merlin smiles at him, “try it.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re sweet.”
“Snowflakes aren’t sweet.”
“You wouldn’t know, you’ve never tried it.”
Percival hesitates before relenting and tilting his head back, his tongue stuck out as he begins to catch rogue flakes. Behind them Elyan and Gwaine share a glance before following along. Lancelot shrugs to Leon’s furrowed brow and throws his head back as well. With a sigh, Leon joins in.
Arthur turns his jaw over his shoulder to look skeptically at Merlin who merely smiles back.
“Try it.”
Reluctantly, Arthur does. For a moment all’s quiet as Camelot’s finest attempt to catch the taste of winter upon their tongues while Merlin watches, amused. Finally a chorus of complaints breaks the air.
“Merlin, these snowflakes are not sweet.”
“Whoever told you that must’ve been messing with you.”
“Wait, I think mine might’ve been.”
“No, you’re just an idiot.”
Merlin grins, “alright. I lied. I just wanted to see if I could convince a bunch of knights to taste snowflakes.”
Immediately Leon blushes, Lancelot smiles, Gwaine makes an impressed face, and Elyan and Percival scoff. Arthur turns his whole body in his saddle to glower at him.
“Merlin!”
“Bonus, I even tricked a king.”
“Merlin!”
“Don’t worry,” he assures them with a gleam in his eye that could almost rival the twinkle of the flakes, “I won’t tell anyone. That was just for me.”
“How chivalrous of you,” Leon deadpans but there’s a small smirk at his lips and Merlin returns it.
They carry on in relative silence again but it’s different than before; lighter, more comfortable. Merlin feels at ease and like a heavy cloud has been lifted at least a little. It allows him to breathe easier and he passes the time by blowing the faintest puff of air at Arthur’s ear and biting back a chuckle when Arthur reaches up to scratch at said ear and his neck.
“Is that you?” He finally accuses, his hand protecting his neck and Merlin hums.
“What are you complaining about?”
Arthur doesn’t get a chance to explain himself before a whooshing sound whirls behind them and a cold, soft thump pelts Merlin in the back of his head. The cold front makes his shoulders bunch up, his neck immediately prickled with cold water droplets that cascade down his neckline and spine and Merlin quickly turns upon Arthur’s horse.
Percival, Elyan, Leon and Lancelot sit motionless in their saddles, eyes wide and faces neutral. Lancelot points immediately behind him where Gwaine rides in the middle, his reins in one hand and a perfectly crafted snowball in the other.
He tosses it up in his palm briefly, his brows drawn in what he thinks is probably something intimidating before he hauls his arm back and takes aim. Merlin quickly grabs the back of Arthur’s saddle, tilting his body to the side just in time for the snowball to thud humorously at the back of the King’s head.
Arthur tenses, the snowball plastered to his nape, and his shoulders hunching on instinct. His horse stops.
“Merlin?”
“I swear it wasn’t me!”
Arthur reins his horse around so fast Merlin nearly loses his balance but if Arthur was aiming for a lecture he doesn’t achieve it before another harshly thrown snowball decks him square in the face.
Merlin whistles lowly, impressed by Gwaine’s audacity, and ducks behind Arthur for the inevitable outburst. Arthur slowly raises a hand to swipe the remnants of snow from his face though the heat of his cheeks had done a damn good job at melting it away.
“Some might call that treason,” Arthur says calmly, too calmly, and Merlin peeks out over his shoulder out of curiosity.
“Some might,” Gwaine replies, matching Arthur’s energy with every word, “others might call it an act of war.”
They stare at each other under a blanket of tension and Merlin takes the opportunity to snag a handful of snow from the tree branch jutting out to his right. Gwaine notices, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his lips as he anticipates backup.
What he doesn’t anticipate, however, is for Merlin to pop up over Arthur, using his shoulders as a means to stabilize himself before pelting the snowball right at Gwaine. He’s taken entirely off guard but manages to save his face as he turns and allows for the snowball to hit his shoulder.
“Merlin!” he exclaims, his quick movements causing his horse to toss its head and dance underneath him, “I thought you’d be on my side!”
“You struck me first!”
“So this is war then. Pick your side men!”
“NO way,” Elyan says, quickly dismounting from his horse and tying it to the closest tree, “this is every man for himself!”
The rest are quick to jump off their mounts, tying them in a haste as snowballs begin to fly seemingly without any means of direction. The knights begin to take cover, even Leon who’s grossly exasperated but will not take the chance at being doused in snow.
“Ridiculous,” he hisses as he dives under a low hanging branch, “what happened to getting home?!”
A snowball hits him in the nose.
“You can go home if you survive!” Gwaine retaliates and goes to aim another snowball at him but Percival dumps an armload of snow over his head. Leon hunkers down in fear of being next.
Arthur has since hauled Merlin off behind a tree, the two having come to an unspoken agreement of sorts as they shelter themselves and listen to the chaos of the snowball war the rages on behind them. Arthur turns to face Merlin, his breathing a bit labored from excitement though he does a good job at appearing battle ready as he nods once, “will you prepare my weapons?”
“Of course,” Merlin huffs with a smile and the two get to crafting up crudely made snowballs. Once Arthur deems there’s enough for him to start throwing, he leans out from behind the tree and takes aim while Merlin keeps his stockpile full and at the ready.
“That’s not fair!” Someone, Elyan it sounds like, states as a snowball flies through the air and gets Lancelot upside the head. “They’ve teamed up!”
“What else is new?” Someone else scoffs and Arthur sees Gwaine pouting behind a boulder before he lands a snowball to his hair.
“Oi! Not the money maker!”
Arthur smirks, Merlin handing him another snowball wordlessly and this time Arthur manages to smack Percival in the arm as he quickly ducks for cover.
“Aye lads, why not make it even. Us against them.”
“Merlin, they’ve grown sentient,” Arthur tells him, his words veiled in a thin layer of concern, “we’ll need more snowballs.”
“I’m working on it, Sire,” Merlin quickly gives him a handful before pulling a few of his own from the pile between them and leaning out from around the other side of the tree. “They’re forming an alliance.”
“Traitorous bastards,” Arthur sneers, “I’ll give them stable duty for a week. Quick, you take Leon and Elyan. I’ve got Percival, Gwaine and Lancelot.”
They begin taking aim and throwing their snowballs defiantly while the knights jump and dodge as they advance. Percival is smart, grabbing a pine tree branch and using it as a shield as he deflects the snowballs and offers cover for Lancelot. Gwaine refuses the cover, hurling snowball after snowball as Arthur pelts him back and manages a particularly harsh blow straight to the face.
Gwaine drops dramatically.
“That’s it!” he laments, “I’ve taken one too many hits, you lot go on without me. I can’t even feel my face anymore.”
“You started this!”
“End it for me, Percival. Be a man!”
Merlin just narrowly misses a snowball to his face as he ducks behind the tree, he grabs another few snowballs before leaning back out and calling out for Elyan.
“Elyan!”
Elyan stops up briefly, momentarily distracted by the use of his name.
“Gwen says you slept with the candles burning all night until you were 17!”
Elyan freezes, “now wait a minute–”
A snowball, thrown by Arthur, hits his cheek before another hits him square in the chest, the remains falling down his armor and tunic and he lets out a wail of displeasure.
“You two fight dirty!”
Arthur throws Merlin a prideful smirk and a barely noticeable wink.
Leon quickly turns on his heel, snowballs dropped to the ground as he begins to waltz away, “I surrender. This is fool–”
His back is pelted with snowballs.
“I said I surrendered!– oof!” Leon gets nearly a mouth full of snow, causing him to take a misstep backwards before falling to his backside.
“Come on, Percival,” Lancelot tells him bravely, “it’s now or never.”
Merlin peeks out from around the tree, “Percival, look!”
Percival quickly looks, leaving him blatantly distracted, and Arthur takes full advantage by darting around the tree and aiming a snowball to the side of his face.
“Arg!”
“Percival!” Lancelot scolds from behind the branch shield, “don’t fall for their tricks!”
“It was Merlin!”
“He’s using your camaraderie against you, stay–”
“Lancelot, help!” Merlin calls out and Lancelot, almost on instinct, pops up over the shield. He gets nothing but a face full of snow to show for it.
He throws the branch to the ground, “Merlin, that’s cheating!”
“Did we win?” he asks hopefully. Arthur steps out from around the tree, looking far too boastful.
“Of course we won.”
Lancelot plows through the snow, face set with that trademark look that tells Merlin he’s perhaps teased too much. Surprisingly, when it came to banter, Arthur was the one who handled it best. Lancelot, for all his patience and gentle way about him, was always a hair-trigger away from getting physical.
“Now wait a second, I didn’t cheat,” Merlin tries to defend himself but Lancelot isn’t listening and the servant is quick to dart around the tree for cover, “I didn’t cheat, Lancelot!”
“Oh yeah?” He taunts and is swift in his assault, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and wrestling him to the snow covered ground. Merlin goes down with ease, not even being able to find the strength to fight back and consumed with laughter because really, it’s all he can do. Lancelot goes so far as to rub snow in his face while Merlin manages a string of pleas and groans amongst his laughing.
It’s a good sound coming off the heels of the kidnapping and rather than offer a helping hand, Arthur takes a second to relish in it. Just a second.
Until Gwaine is charging in.
“Yeah, get him!”
Arthur, in defense of Merlin, juts out a foot and manages to trip Gwaine on his way by. He stumbles to the snow in a heap and somehow that starts up a wrestling match between the two when Gwaine, in retaliation, manages to grab Arthur by the ankle.
Leon watches on seriously, hands on his knees. Now this he can get behind, “Arthur, hold your center, you’re better than this. Gwaine, what the hell, no biting?”
“Sorry,” Gwaine grunts from within Arthur’s hold as he’s rendered immobile, “it works at the tavern.”
Leon shakes his head in disappointment and turns his attention to Merlin and Lancelot.
“Merlin, what kind of form is that? No– you can’t pull his ear. That’s not wrestling.”
“This isn’t wrestling!” Merlin wheezes from his crumpled position in Lancelot’s arms, “this is a hostage situation, let me go!”
“Admit you cheated,” Lancelot goads and for good measure pinches Merlin’s side. Merlin squirms and kicks.
“Never.”
Lancelot demonstrates the upper hand, holding Merlin’s arms behind his back and pressing a good portion of his weight into his spine as Merlin’s face takes on more snow.
“Alright, alright!” Merlin finally relents, “I cheated.”
Lancelot releases him, smiling and ruffling Merlin’s hair but his hand is swatted away. Merlin begins to wipe the snow from his face and Lancelot chuckles, satisfied.
“That’ll teach you.”
Merlin glares at him, “teach me to limit your stew rations to a single bowl. Why do you knights got to be so damn heavy.”
Lancelot offers him a hand and Merlin takes it, allowing for himself to be hauled to his feet and the two pass by right as Arthur manages to get Gwaine to beg for mercy.
The impromptu snowball fight and wrestling match took more time of their day than planned and after a bit of walking they manage to find ledges of rock with a cave opening; perfect shelter as the snow continues to fall. They make camp out in the open, a considerable sized fire melting the snow away from its logs and a smaller one lit inside the cave to warm it up as much as it can. By nightfall, the snow had stopped and clouds had given way for a star littered night sky to shine above. They all sit sated and warm around the large fire outside the cave, lounging in various positions as they wait for Merlin to finish making a sweetened tea made up of sorrel and mint leaves. The smell alone is enough to embrace the night with a warm energy.
The tea is poured and handed out one by one, the wooden cups doing little to keep the heat of it at bay as it reddens their palms but it’s not complained about after such a cold day. Gwaine raises his cup cockily.
“To Arthur and Merlin’s victory,” he toasts and Arthur rolls his eyes, “even if they did cheat.”
Merlin eyes Lancelot stubbornly, “so some say.”
Lancelot raises his brows teasingly over the brim of his cup.
“And,” Gwaine continues and his face falls into a much more softened expression, his voice dropping an octave as he juts his cup towards Merlin, “to Merlin’s safe return. You gave us quite a scare. I think I speak for everyone when I say… don’t do that again.”
There’s a round of murmurs of agreement and clanking as cups tip into one another. Merlin sighs through his nose as he allows for the others’ cups to bump against his.
“Next time I’ll think twice before allowing myself to be kidnapped,” Merlin tells them sarcastically and takes a sip of his drink. Gwaine nods along.
“That’s all we ask.”
Merlin scoffs but Arthur shifts uncomfortably next to him, his fingers tight around his cup as he says, “and we’ll do better… to keep you safe.”
It’s said so quietly Merlin almost doesn’t catch it but when he does he feels the weight of Arthur’s statement settle around them quite heavily. They seem downtrodden at Arthur’s words, the sentiment like a physical force pulling at their lips and eyes as they frown into their cups of steaming tea. It occurs to Merlin suddenly that perhaps their bitter moods from earlier hadn’t been because of him and his shortcomings. Perhaps it was because of their own. Or, what they perceived to be their own. To Merlin, his kidnapping felt like a simple misfortune. They had been overpowered by the slave traders’ ambush. Not every attack in the forests far from home could be an easy defeat. Merlin feels compelled to assure them of that.
“You do,” he voices into the quiet atmosphere where only the fire’s crackling and popping had been heard. “A good job, that is. At keeping me safe.”
They glance up at him, appearing more like children who had just been schooled rather than fearsome knights of a renowned kingdom. It would be comical if not so disheartening.
“We didn’t today,” Percival admits out loud and the shame is palpable. Merlin waves a nonchalant hand.
“Twas just a hiccup.”
“And what if we hadn’t gotten to you in time?” Arthur asks from his side and while his voice isn’t harsh the words cut deep. Merlin falters.
“It’s not your fault,” Merlin tells them all suddenly, “I mean, I don’t— you’re not to blame.”
No one rushes to agree with him nor assure him that that hadn’t been what they were thinking. Instead, they remain quiet and passive, their eyes finding great fascination within their tea or amongst the fire’s dancing flames. Merlin decides he can’t take their sulkiness much longer.
“The slave traders said I’d never be found,” Merlin says quietly as he rubs his thumb over the rough wood of his cup. “They were so convinced there wasn’t a chance of any of you finding me. They even said that it wouldn’t take long for you guys to give up looking because no one would scour the land for a servant.”
They watch him carefully, their brows drawn as he speaks when Gwaine asks, “what did you say to them?”
Merlin shrugs, “nothing much. I just… waited. And then there you guys were, taking those men by surprise and I had wished I had made that damn bet with that bald one because I would’ve won it. My first winning bet and I kept my mouth shut. That’s my biggest regret, right there.”
Percival and Elyan huff a chuckle while Leon inquires, “you weren’t scared?”
Merlin frowns in thought as he stares into the fire before shaking his head confidently. “No. I was inconvenienced for sure. It was cold and uncomfortable, no one forcing me to wear a blanket or offering me to ride on their horse. But I was never scared. I just… waited.”
“For us?” Arthur asks and Merlin turns to look at him, taking into account how his voice is uncharacteristically soft and in the presence of all his finest men at that. Maybe Arthur noticed, maybe he didn’t, either way he waits solemnly for Merlin’s response.
“For you,” Merlin tells him soundly, accompanied by a minuscule grin and Arthur shares it briefly before turning away to take a sip of his tea, his flushed cheeks poorly hidden by the rim of his cup.
“Glad you had faith in us, Merlin,” Gwaine says as he rises from his spot, stretching his arms out and stepping around the fire where he stands before him, his hands on his knees as he bends to peer into Merlin's eyes, “I certainly could’ve used some of it today…. It’s good to have you back.”
He tousles Merlin’s hair a bit roughly and goes so far as to smack an ambush of a kiss upon his forehead. Merlin makes a face at that, quickly reaching up to rub at the wetness left behind as he glares at Gwaine’s retreating form who’s laughing his way to the caves.
“I’m calling it a night!”
“Me too,” Elyan agrees and rises with Percival, the larger knight taking it upon himself to further mess up Merlin’s hair as he ruffles it on his way by. Merlin huffs and winces when Elyan stands over him, expecting another hair tousling before Elyan says, “and it was 15… not 17.”
Merlin grins at that but by letting his guard down he allows Elyan the opportunity to mess his hair up and he quickly leans away, irritated.
“Oh c’mon.”
Someone ruffles it from behind and he whips around to see Leon smiling down at him, “try to keep your head low next time.”
“I’m trying to do that now!”
“Goodnight,” Leon bids the rest and when it’s just Merlin, Arthur and Lancelot left around the fire, Merlin glares subtly at Lancelot who’s smiling at him from where he's laid out by the warm flames.
“Don’t even think about it,” Merlin warns him as he protects his hair. Lancelot shakes his head.
“I already got my fill.”
Merlin is still weary, gripping at his tea once more as the three fall into a companionable silence, the faint bickering wafting from the cave as Gwaine and Elyan argue over who is sleeping where. Lancelot snorts a laugh.
“I can take first watch,” he offers and Arthur scoffs at him.
“And sentence me to monitor that ruckus?” he accuses, jutting a thumb towards the cave, “I’ll take first watch.”
“I can,” Merlin says and both Lancelot and Arthur stare at him incredulously.
“Too soon?”
Arthur ignores him and turns to Lancelot, “Merlin and I will take the first watch.”
Lancelot nods, getting to his feet and downing the rest of his tea before placing the cup by the fire. “Good tea, Merlin.”
“Thanks.”
Lancelot is quick, reaching out towards Merlin’s head but the servant is just as quick, leaning away and staring apprehensively up at him before Lancelot gives him a gentle smile and simply lays his palm flat upon his head.
“We wouldn’t have stopped searching, for what it’s worth.”
Merlin blinks up at him, “I know.”
“Good.”
And with that, Lancelot turns for the cave and Merlin watches him go, hears the commotion of Gwaine and Elyan duking it out over sleeping arrangements somehow and wonders if it’s a continuation of sorts from the roughhousing of the day.
He looks at Arthur, only slightly surprised to see him already staring back at him, and says, “I think Gwaine and Elyan are wrestling… wanna take bets? My money’s on Gwaine. I’m feeling lucky after today.”
Merlin holds his hand out and Arthur glances down at it before slowly reaching out to grasp Merlin’s cold fingers in his warm ones. He doesn’t give it a rough shake nor does he agree to any bets. He simply squeezes, his eyes rising slowly to find Merlin’s again.
“I’m not,” Arthur confesses quietly, and he huffs a wet sounding laugh, “then again, I am. Somehow today managed to feel like the worst and best day of my life.”
Merlin opens his mouth to say something off handedly when he realizes just how prominent Arthur’s words are. He takes a second glance at him, his fingers going slack within Arthur’s hand and feeling trapped in a way he’s not sure he wants to escape from.
“Do you need to talk about it?” Merlin offers gingerly, cautiously, and Arthur scoffs and chuckles.
“Don’t make me sound like a weepy maiden.”
“Well,” Merlin finally finds the courage to poke fun, “quit acting like one.”
Arthur attempts to glare at him but it’s hard when he’s still got Merlin’s hand held in his own and the humor fades like a fast sinking sun at the end of a long day. He stares at their hands, at the way they’ve come to align against one another and the way Merlin’s slender fingers are littered with calluses and cuts that rival a knight’s. His thumb gets caught up on a healing cut in particular, the torn skin revealing a patch of pink underneath that's hardened over time. He rubs at it absentmindedly.
“I should’ve… those slave traders never should’ve got their hands on you.”
Merlin shifts upon the log, “that wasn’t your fault.”
“Of course it is,” Arthur tells him softly, “I force you along on these journeys, it’s my duty to keep you safe and today I failed at that.”
“You think me coming along is all your doing?” Merlin asks and Arthur flicks his eyes up at him.
“You may be King,” Merlin reminds him, “but even you couldn’t order me to stay behind. Wherever you go, I go. That’s just the way of things I'm afraid.”
Arthur closes his eyes briefly. “What you said earlier… was it true?”
“Which part?”
“The one where… you said you weren’t afraid.”
Merlin nods readily, “yes. That part was true.”
Arthur frowns, “you say that like something you said earlier wasn’t true… what part was that?”
Merlin looks away bashfully, “I made that bet… with the bald trader. But you all killed him and I felt too bad taking money from a dead guy so…”
“Merlin.”
“My first winning bet and the guy dies. It’s like… did I even win?”
Arthur huffs a laugh, “the bet was that you’d be rescued?”
“That you guys wouldn’t stop looking for me. And yeah, that you’d find me.” Merlin smirks at him, “and I was right. As I knew I would be.”
Arthur stares at him, lips parted.
“I think… the only fear I have might had,” Merlin confesses quietly, “was that you’d be hurt. Or worse.”
“Me too,” Arthur nods as he watches the firelight bounce across Merlin’s face. It illuminates the blue of his irises as they peer at Arthur thoughtfully, skeptically even, as Merlin inches just that much closer.
“You can’t be carrying that fear,” Merlin tells him softly, “you’re already carrying the weight of a whole kingdom on your shoulders. Don’t overdo it.”
Arthur feels transfixed on the way the shadows make a show of sorts along Merlin’s skin, the darkness dancing with the light and when Merlin smiles the brightness of it seems magnified in the moment, half his face cloaked in the unknown and the other half glowing in the warm flames. Arthur can’t help himself but to reach up and run his thumb along Merlin's bottom lip as he proclaims:
“I don’t want to carry a kingdom without you in it.”
Merlin’s smile fades, his eyelids fluttering as his breathing becomes nothing more than unsteady puffs along the knuckle of Arthur’s thumb. It’s comforting, in a way, to have Merlin here under his touch, breathing upon his skin, and staring back at him like this. It’s grounding yet overwhelming and enough yet somehow has him craving more when his hand slides across the smoothness of his cheek, cupping around the back of Merlin’s skull, and pulling him in close enough for his lips to press into Arthur’s with a certainty so inarguable it pulls a sigh from somehow deep within his ribs.
Merlin’s lips, unlike his hands, are warm and supple and allow for Arthur’s to move against his mouth seemingly however they see fit. But Arthur sets the pace slow and steady, savoring the feel of Merlin’s lips against his, committing it to the sweetest of memories he knows he’ll be looking back on for days, months, perhaps even years to come. He feels Merlin scoot just that much closer to him, his chilly hands featherlight along Arthur's jaw as he hums contentedly against his lips. The feel of it crawls down Arthur’s spine and sternum before settling somewhere below his naval, turning the feel of Merlin’s cold fingertips into something almost scalding as he deepens the kiss and grabs at Merlin’s waist for something to cling to.
Begrudgingly, Merlin pulls away, just enough to break the kiss but Arthur’s not quite finished as he presses his lips to the corner of Merlin’s mouth, his cheek, and along his jaw. His skin is warm from the firelight and salty from the day’s troubles. Arthur thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and he’s not sure how far he would’ve gone had Merlin not turned his head, his forehead pressing into his and the point of his nose running along Arthur’s cheek as he whispers, “… we’re supposed to be on watch.”
“I don’t care,” Arthur murmurs against Merlin’s lips. At the moment nothing mattered more to him than familiarizing himself with Merlin in this new and enthralling way. He wanted to know more, like what made Merlin squirm or what else would make him hum and sigh the way he had. He wanted to feel more, like what running his tongue along the juts of his neck would feel like or if the sharpness of his collarbone could be felt with his lips. He wanted to taste more. And more. And more. And more.
“We’re not alone,” Merlin suddenly recalls and he sounds nervous. It's enough to pull whatever wool had seemingly been shoved into Arthur’s ears out and he can hear the distant voices coming from the cave and feel the chill in the air around them. It awakens him, gives him the strength to sit back just enough to see the anxious blue of Merlin’s eyes as he glances over his shoulder towards the cave. Arthur nods, running his hand along Merlin’s forearm until he’s able to wrap his fingers around his wrist.
“Alright,” he assures him gently, “you’re right. We’re on watch, we shouldn’t—“
“Not here,” Merlin tells him with a knowing grin, his hand closing around Arthur’s jaw and stroking along his cheekbone. “At home.”
“Home,” Arthur agrees as he places a hand over Merlin’s. Never has the word sounded so alluring while simultaneously causing Arthur’s heart to swell in his chest.
They smile at one another, saying nothing as they move off the log and settle upon the ground, closer to the fire and its heat and while the hour of first watch commences around them they end up leaning into one another, shoulder against shoulder but for a long time they stay silent as they watch the fire sway in the winter breeze. They stay quiet until Arthur chances a glance and sees Merlin’s eyelids growing heavier by the second.
“You can sleep,” he whispers to him as he admires the way Merlin's grin creates a dip at his cheek, so bewitching in its simplicity. “I’ll keep watch… over you.”
“I know,” Merlin murmurs and even though he sounds half asleep he also sounds so sure of himself. So sure of Arthur.
“I know,” he sighs again, his head coming to rest on Arthur’s shoulder, lightly at first before growing heavier and heavier.
Arthur turns his chin, his lips buried within Merlin’s hair as he brushes a kiss to the top of his head. Merlin drifts off to sleep within minutes. Content, at ease.
Safe.
And Arthur sits attentive yet relaxed, anchored with the weight at his shoulder and the warmth pressed against his side.
Home.